A truck full of brand-new bots heads for the town square on E2. Golden hour, dust kicking up behind the wheels. Nobody in the back knows what's about to happen.
Sparse acoustic guitar, wide open road feeling. Warm, hopeful, a little lonely.
Tiny Doodle clings to the railing in the truck bed, surrounded by towering bots. The road gets bumpy. Her grip starts to slip. No one is paying attention to her.
Playful pizzicato strings with an uneasy undercurrent. Something's about to go wrong.
She tumbles right out the back and lands by the dusty road. None of the bots see her fall. They don't care. The truck just keeps driving.
Sudden silence as she falls. Then a single low tone. The world keeps moving without her.
Rain on an empty road. Doodle walks alone, her long shadow stretching ahead of her. Nobody is coming. It's just her and the road, for two months.
Lonely solo piano, minor key. Rain-like soft percussion underneath.
One night she tries to cross the river. But it's not the pretty kind, it's dirty, muddy, churning. She's stuck in the middle of it, trying to keep going. The water is cold, and she is so small.
Dark low strings, murky and churning like the water. No melody, just dread.
Night. Deep in the dark weeds, all that's left of her light is a tiny dying ember. She's about to die out here. It's dark, and no one knows she's here.
Almost nothing. A single faint note that keeps trying to hold on, then fades.
Sally's a photographer. She's out in the meadow at dawn, taking pictures of the morning light, lost in her own world.
Warm gentle guitar returns. Morning, hopeful, a new day.
Through her viewfinder she catches something, a tiny warm glow in the tall grass. She pulls the camera down from her face and stares. What is that?
The music stops. Held breath. Then a soft swell of wonder, just a few notes.
Sally kneels in the tall grass. There she is, so still, barely a light left. Sally's heart drops. She thinks she might be too late.
Tender strings enter quietly. Fragile, careful, like not wanting to scare the moment.
Sally lifts her gently and holds her close against her chest. Dusk falls as she carries the tiny robot home, not knowing if she'll ever wake up.
Warm cello, slow and hopeful. A lullaby for someone who might not hear it.
At home, Sally lays her in a soft box and tries everything, tiny tools, gentle hands, checking every panel. She's not sure it's going to work. She's barely holding it together.
Fragile music-box piano. Uncertain, delicate, like it could stop at any second.
Dinesh helps plug her in. Then they wait. All night Sally sits at the desk, watching. Nothing. She is so quiet, so dark. You'd think she was gone.
Barely there. A low hum, a held breath. The quietest the film ever gets.
And then, in the darkest part of the night, in the little bit of lamplight in Sally's room, a flicker. Her eyes open. Warm golden light fills the room. Doodle's awake. She lives. The first thing she ever says is "ooh!"
THE SWELL. Full strings rise, violins soar. The music has to hit perfectly here, this is the whole film. Tears.
Sunset in the meadow. Sally and Doodle, together at last, waving at the camera. She's been Sally's ever since.
Full warm theme, resolved and joyful. The melody from Scene 1 comes back, but now it's not lonely anymore.